


This is the Difference

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [22]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Peril, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton has saved the ship—and his general's life—and Washington has questions.





	This is the Difference

"How _did_ you know he wasn't me?" Washington asks only after more pressing questions have been answered—only when every member of his senior staff has given their report and said their piece. He locks eyes with Hamilton, trying to convey his gratitude without words. He knows he is lucky to be aboard his ship at all, instead of stranded on a dying science array at the center of nowhere.

As far as he's gleaned since his return, the bio-construct was flawless—a convincing mimic that fooled his crew and nearly made off with his ship. Only Hamilton spotted the deception, sedating the imposter and convincing Doctor Peggy Schuyler to run the deep bio and neural scans to prove something wasn’t right.

But in the face of Washington's direct interrogation, Hamilton flashes a cheeky grin and says, "Trade secret."

"Alexander." Exasperated strain tinges Commander Church's voice, and Washington can tell she's growing anxious to wrap up this debrief and retire for the night. "An intruder breached the highest level security of the Federation's flagship, almost entirely uncontested. Whatever clued you in, we _need to know_ so we can make sure nothing like this happens again."

The bright expression fades from Hamilton's face, replaced instantly by a more serious look that Washington suspects has been lurking beneath the surface the entire time.

After only a moment's hesitation, Hamilton gives a helpless shrug. "There wasn't anything specific. I just… had a feeling. I figured if I was wrong, worst I'd get was a reprimand for being paranoid and causing trouble."

It's a perfectly reasonable answer, delivered with convincing sincerity. Which leaves Washington uncertain why he is so sure Hamilton is lying.

The answer seems to satisfy the rest of Washington's senior staff, despite its failure to elucidate Hamilton's thinking. Fair enough. Washington is not going to call his boy out in front of everyone. If he's evading the question, surely he has a reason.

There's little to discuss from there. Minor details that require addressing tonight only because Washington has been relieved of his next three duty shifts. Medical leave at Peggy Schuyler's insistence.

"You're all dismissed," he announces at last. It's a relief to finally say the words and begin clearing the room. Washington is more exhausted than he has been in a very long time. He looks forward to quiet and privacy. Hell, even three days away from his post sound more appealing than they should be.

Hamilton doesn't rush in gathering himself and shutting down the console in front of him. He must realize Washington will require better answers; they may not be operating in perfect harmony these days, but Alexander still reads him better than anyone else. It's why they are sitting here at all.

"Colonel Hamilton," Washington says as the room steadily clears. "Please stay a moment."

"Of course, sir." Hamilton rises—Washington is already on his feet—but he makes no move to follow as Lafayette departs, the last to vanish through the door. Instead he rounds the table to hover near Washington's elbow. Keeping an appropriate distance, but making no pretense of _not_ staring up into his general's face.

The fact that they are alone shouldn't jolt along Washington's nerves the way it does. It shouldn't overwhelm his senses purely because his boy is close at hand. How long will he have to manage this impossible balance—this acknowledgment without pursuit—before some fraction of his former professionalism returns?

He tries to convince his body to pivot so that he can turn his focus out the viewport instead of returning Hamilton's stare. But he's helpless to put his attention elsewhere, and he settles for standing a little straighter beneath Alexander's unflinching gaze.

"How did you know?" Washington puts firm steel beneath the soft question.

Hamilton hesitates, even though he must surely have known this was the reason Washington asked him to stay. He catches and worries his lower lip between his teeth, but he doesn't make Washington repeat himself.

There's something uncharacteristically careful in Hamilton's voice. "I knew he wasn't you when he kissed me."

The air rushes out of Washington's lungs at the blunt confession—or maybe it's at the image of a stranger, wearing his face, touching his boy—a surge of alarm and anger and protectiveness flaring bright and useless beneath his skin. Too late for such instincts. He _wasn't here_. He falls back a step, overbalances a little. Ends up leaning hard on the lower sill of the viewport, clenching his hands around smooth metal and staring at Alexander with wide eyes.

"He did what?" Washington rasps.

"He didn't hurt me," Hamilton says, piercing directly to the heart of Washington's alarm. "He didn't even come close. You don't have to look at me like that."

"He kissed you." Repeating the information does not make Washington feel any better.

There's a moment of quiet. A moment in which Hamilton is peering at him steadily—seeing directly through him—and then four steps bring him to stand directly in front of Washington. Hamilton perches against the edge of the conference table. Keeping his distance, more or less, though it would take all of two paces for them to be touching.

Hamilton's words are precise and careful, but also honest as he continues, "He had your face, your knowledge, your memories. That's how he fooled everyone. And he… wanted. The same things you want."

Washington's voice is stuck somewhere low in his throat. He feels trapped and called out, even though there's no hint of accusation in Hamilton's voice. Even though no secrets remain between them. Hamilton has known for months that Washington covets him. But somehow it's worse like this, wondering what an imposter wearing Washington's face might have said or done in his stead.

"He _wasn't you_ ," Hamilton says, soft but emphatic. "He didn't see why we shouldn't… He wasn't stubborn like you are. He was already stealing your life and your ship, why shouldn't he have me too?"

"You said he didn't hurt you," Washington manages at last, in a voice that sounds like a plea.

"He didn't," Hamilton swears. "He barely touched me. I outmaneuvered him before he figured out I'd clued in, but even if I hadn't… I doubt I was in any danger. He wasn't violent."

Air finally returns to Washington's lungs, and he steadies his breathing with difficulty. Calming by grudging degrees. The imposter didn't hurt Alexander. Didn't do any lasting harm. Even if his boy would lie to him about this—a distinct possibility—he certainly would not be this convincing.

"And you're really okay?" Washington presses anyway. Desperate to be sure.

"I'm really okay.” The intensity in that tone leaves no room for doubt.

When Hamilton pushes up from the edge of the table, Washington rises too in a rush of mindless instinct. Forward momentum carries him across the sliver of space and he wraps his arms around Alexander, crushing his boy tight to his chest. It's only a hug. A clinging, shaky embrace that has nothing to do with _want_ and everything to do with the relief pulsing through his blood. But it still feels like too much when Hamilton's arms circle him in return, and when Hamilton tucks his face beneath Washington's jaw with a barely audible sigh.

"Are _you_ okay?" Hamilton asks, so quiet Washington barely hears him.

It takes a moment, but Washington is truthful when he answers, "I will be."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Strain, Elucidate, Harmony
> 
> I also hang out **[over on Dreamwidth](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/)** , if you'd like to find me there.


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